Mustang and Hughes Attempt to Fix the Fuse Box
by Obsessive Explosion
Summary: Ed tries to take down a serial killer in a blizzard but gets stabbed, and it comes down to Hughes and Mustang to make sure he doesn't bleed or freeze to death. Rated T for mild language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Ed shivered as the bitter night wind tore at his clothes and hair. _There'll be snow later_ , he thought. A few flakes were already slowly spiraling down from the dark clouds overhead. _I better finish this up quickly._ His automail was aching, and he could feel the frigid metal beginning to freeze against his skin. He didn't particularly want to be caught in the coming blizzard, but catching the serial killer that had been haunting Central for the past month would be worth it.

The murderer was targeting older women, and Ed was pretty sure there was a pattern in the deaths. To him, it looked like the killings were arranged in a transmutation circle - not the first time he'd seen something like this. He'd tried to tell Mustang his theory, but the Colonel had just waved him away absentmindedly. When Ed had threatened to go after the killer himself, Mustang had expressly forbidden him to leave Central Command without an escort. Ed had promised (reluctantly), left the office, and immediately set off to catch the criminal.

If Ed's theory was right - and Ed was pretty sure it was - then the killer would be striking again tonight, and he would be dropping the body near Ed's location. It would probably end up under a streetlight in front of a public building, like the other bodies. Ed ducked into an alleyway to wait for his quarry and envisioned Mustang's expression when he brought in the killer. _I'll wipe that know-it-all look off his face_ , Ed thought, and grinned. _He probably thinks I'm still moping around down at Central Command._

* * *

"It's too quiet," Mustang muttered to himself. He put aside the stack of paperwork he was signing and walked out into the hallway.

"Fullmetal?" There was no answer. Mustang frowned. Of course, the kid could just be sulking. He looked around again and theatrically raised his voice.

"Fullmetal, are you around? Of course, you're short enough that you're fairly easy to miss…"

He waited, but when he wasn't immediately accosted by an enraged Ed, his suspicions were confirmed. Ed had indeed left the building, and Mustang highly doubted that he'd taken an escort. For a moment, he considered just leaving the young alchemist to his mystery, but he was worried that Ed might actually find the killer. And despite what Ed seemed to think, this man was dangerous.

Mustang sighed and glanced out the window. Storm clouds boiled overhead, and a few snowflakes were already starting to swirl down in grey eddies. The storm would only get worse, and Mustang couldn't very well leave Ed trapped out there to face the weather on his own. He would have to go find him, to save him from the blizzard and the serial killer and his own stupidity, despite the fact that there were at least one hundred things that he would rather be doing.

Mustang pulled on his jacket, looked back once at his warm office and wished that he could stay there, and then stepped out into the cold to go after the kid.

The serial killer hadn't strayed from a fairly specific pattern so far, so he had a pretty good guess of where the murderer was going to be. He could only hope that Ed had figured it out too, because he really didn't want to be wandering around Central all night in a blizzard looking for him. Mustang was already freezing, so he couldn't imagine what the kid must feel like.

As Mustang was walking, he planned out what he was going to say to Ed when he finally found him. He had gone out looking for him in a blizzard, after all, so he figured he was owed a lot of time to yell. He cared less that Ed had disobeyed a direct order and more that he himself was now suffering for it, but as Ed's superior officer he could lecture Ed for exactly as long as he pleased.

Assuming the kid wasn't dead by the time Mustang found him, of course.

* * *

Ed was trying his best to think like a serial killer, which wasn't really his forte. He figured the criminal should be lying in wait somewhere around here, probably trying to find an unsuspecting victim that he could pounce on. The only problem was that the streets were empty because of the impending snow, and the only person wandering around was Ed himself.

Ed figured that that was going to make it rather more difficult to catch the serial killer. Honestly, as much as Ed hated to admit it, it was possible that the Colonel was right, and Ed shouldn't have gone after the killer today. He wasn't sure that there was actually anyone here.

Angry at both himself and the Colonel, he turned around and began to head back to Central Command. But a sound from an alleyway behind him made him pause. What had he heard? He backtracked and peered down the long brick passageway, but the shadows pooling at the back wall obscured anything that could be waiting there. He hesitated on the edge of the street, unsure whether to investigate a sound that he might have imagined. But then, something rustled from the end of the alleyway, and Ed made up his mind.

He entered the alley cautiously, peering around him as the passage became darker.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anybody there? I'm just a helpless victim…"

But nobody leaped out with a bloody knife and a manic grin, ready to disembowel him. Maybe Ed had misheard. He wished he was able to see a little better. Still, he supposed it wouldn't do any harm to make absolutely sure….

He felt his way forward, arms outstretched. Just as he was about to give up and leave the alley, his metal hand touched something that gave slightly.

Ed was moving before he really knew what was going on. His body reacted, and he whirled out of the way and leapt back toward the light. Instinctively, he raised his metal arm…just in time. A blow clanged off the steel, and Ed's shoulder shook with the impact. _I think I've found the killer,_ he thought, and backtracked as the man stepped into the grey light.

The murderer was only about four inches taller than Ed. Looking at his sunken chest and slender arms, Ed was shocked by the strength with which he'd swung the knife. _I can kick his ass no problem,_ Ed thought. And then the man raised his head and Ed saw the look in his eyes.

Ed had seen a lot of murderers in his short life, but he'd never really understood the phrase "the eyes of a killer" until now. Something about this man just seemed…wrong. No matter how hard Ed stared, he couldn't find a single spark of life in his opponent's eyes. _He looks soulless,_ Ed thought with a pang of horror. Involuntarily, he took a step back.

The killer walked toward him, and his advance snapped Ed out of his shock. He placed his hands together and with a flash of blue light, his right arm extended into a blade. He raised it defensively and steeled himself for whatever was next to come.

The serial killer lunged forward. Ed was fast, but he was also still shocked and shivering with cold, and that made the killer faster. With a movement almost too quick for Ed to track, the man stabbed his knife towards Ed's stomach.

At first Ed thought that he hadn't really been hit. All he'd felt was a small sting. He sucked in a sharp breath and raised his hands again, preparing to go in for the attack. But then he felt a stabbing pain in his side, and looked down.

The killer's knife was still embedded in Ed's abdomen, blood welling slowly up around the blade. Ed felt his breath hitch, and the world swirled around him for a split second before steadying. He wrapped his hands around the hilt and pulled the knife slowly out, wincing at the squelching sound and the sudden pain. He swallowed hard, feeling suddenly ill.

The killer was staring at Ed with an expression of shock, probably mostly because Ed was now holding his only weapon. Ed held out the knife in a way that he hoped was menacing. Part of him wanted to go after the killer still, to make sure that he was brought to justice, but Ed didn't think that would be possible just now. He was afraid if he tried to step forward he would collapse on the spot.

But the killer, to Ed's relief, didn't seem to want to test him. He took a small half-step forward, and then turned and ran back down the alley into the darkness. Ed just stood there, too shocked to move and completely unsure of what to do. Pain from the wound was radiating up his chest, and his hands were shaking. He dropped the knife and tried to force himself to think. He knew he needed to try to get to the hospital, or at least somewhere where he would be safe and warm until the storm passed, but he wasn't sure that he would be physically able to. Darkness was eating away at the edges of his vision, and his legs felt like they were made of lead.

Around him, the snow continued to swirl.

* * *

Mustang had been walking for around twenty minutes, and he was starting to consider going back to Central Command. The snow was flying in his face and making it hard to see, and the wind was cold enough that it stung. He wasn't sure he would be able to find the kid in this mess regardless of the situation, and he was pretty sure Ed was smart enough to have gone somewhere safe by now anyways. He figured he would keep looking for a few more minutes, but if he didn't find him soon he would go home before the storm got so intense that he couldn't.

Then, as he was nearing the library, he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Ed was standing in the alley, snow collecting on his hair and shoulders, staring into space. Mustang marched forward, cold, angry, and wanting someone to blame for it.

"Fullmetal. I seem to recall ordering you to stay in Central Command."

Ed didn't respond, and Mustang clenched his fists.

"Are you completely incapable of acting like an adult? Thanks to you, I had to put a vital project on hold and go out in a blizzard to make sure you hadn't gotten yourself killed!" He paused, but Ed just stared at him, eyes slightly glassy. Mustang growled and stepped closer.

"Are you even listening to me?!"

And Ed crumpled. His legs abruptly seemed to stop supporting him, and he fell hard into the snow, not even making an effort to catch himself on the way down.

Mustang immediately forgot his anger and hurried over to the young alchemist. He knelt beside him and shook his shoulder gently.

"Fullmetal! Are you hurt?"

Ed groaned and blinked slightly, but didn't respond. Mustang checked him over for injuries. His red coat was soaked with melted snow, which at first concealed the stab wound in Ed's abdomen. But when Mustang pulled aside the fabric and revealed the ugly gash, he froze. No wonder the kid had collapsed. _He needs to get to a hospital._

Without a second thought, Mustang scooped Ed into his arms and stood, staggering a little as he adjusted to the weight. Ed was heavier than he looked, probably due to his automail arm and leg. As he lifted him, Ed revived and made a squawk of protest.

"Put me down! I can walk!"

"No," Mustang said, seeing Ed collapse again in his mind's eye. Ed squirmed, then gasped in sudden pain. Mustang felt the young alchemist settle slightly into his arms, and he staggered out of the alley and into the street.

The snow was building up around Mustang's knees, making it difficult to walk. He suddenly wasn't sure he would be able to make it to the hospital. The walk would probably take at least an hour with Ed in his arms, and snow was still coming down so hard Mustang was having a little trouble seeing. He stopped for a second, unsure of what to do.

Ed whimpered slightly. His breathing was coming in ragged, panicked gasps. He was trying to put pressure on his own wound as best he could, but his hands were trembling and his gloves were slick with blood.

Mustang's decision was made for him. The walk to the hospital would do the kid in, he was sure of it. If he didn't bleed to death on the way there he would freeze, and Mustang wasn't sure if he could carry him all the way there anyway. He would have to go somewhere, anywhere, else. What was the closest place? Central Command? Riza's apartment?

 _Hughes_. His friend's apartment couldn't be more than a twenty minute walk, and Hughes would know what to do, he was sure of it. If he couldn't get Fullmetal to the hospital until after the storm, at least Hughes would hopefully know how to keep the kid alive until then.

* * *

Ed curled into Mustang's arms, feeling sick with pain. He hated the fact that he was being carried more than anything, but at the same time he knew that he would be unable to walk on his own. His legs were shaking too badly to support him; he was sure if he tried to stand his knees would give way. Ed gritted his teeth against the pain, unwilling to scream in front of the Colonel. Every single muscle in his body was clenched tight.

Ed realized that he was hyperventilating a little bit, and it was making him feel lightheaded. He made the conscious decision to try to slow his breathing, but it was hard to take in any air around the pain at all. Every inhale sent spikes of pain radiating through his body, and every time his chest moved more blood seemed to well up between his fingers. He fumbled at the cloth of his jacket, hoping he could use the fabric to stop some of the bleeding, and made a small, involuntary sound in the back of his throat.

He closed his eyes softly, swallowing hard. Part of him wished he could just pass out already. That seemed like it would be easier.

"Fullmetal?" he heard Mustang ask. "Fullmetal, are you still with me?"

Ed nodded, but speaking seemed like too much work. His throat felt tight.

"Can you…can you say something? You're still awake, right?"

"I'm awake." Ed managed, voice tense with pain. "It's…everything is fine."

"It won't be long now," Mustang told him. "Just…stay talking."

Ed didn't think that was going to happen. Every ounce of energy he possessed was being funneled toward keeping himself from screaming in pain. He knew that if he opened his mouth, he would no longer be able to stop himself. So he clenched his jaw so tight he thought his teeth would crack and nodded stiffly at the Colonel.

The cold wasn't helping anything. It seemed to worm its way into his flesh like a physical entity, cutting deep. His fingers and nose were going numb, and the pain from his abdomen seemed sharper, as if to compensate for the dull feeling in the rest of his body. He watched his own blood slowly ooze between his fingers and hoped that Mustang was right, that it wouldn't be long now.

* * *

All that Mustang could hear was the ragged sound of Ed's breathing. He was clearly doing all he could to keep himself under control, but Mustang could hear the truth in the hitch right before he exhaled. He couldn't believe that Ed was still conscious. Most grown men he knew would have fainted by now. And if they were still awake, they would have been screaming. Ed hadn't made a sound.

Not that he didn't want to. Mustang could see the panic in his eyes, lurking right behind the pain. He wished there was something he could say, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't embarrass Ed. The kid was too proud for his own good, a concept that Mustang was intimately familiar with.

He reached an intersection and peered at the signpost peeking hazily through the blizzard. _Hughes' street._ He sighed in relief.

"This is the street," he told the bleeding boy. Ed blinked, slowly. Mustang wasn't sure if he'd heard. His chest tightened.

"Fullmetal? Can you hear me?"

Ed grunted an affirmative. Mustang knew that was the best he was going to get. He let Ed be and struggled up to Hughes' step. He rang the doorbell and waited, trying to shield Ed from the cold and snow as best he could. He could feel the kid shivering against him.

The door opened and his friend smiled at him. "Roy! What-" Hughes broke off as he noticed Ed, lying cradled in Mustang's arms.

"He's hurt, and I can't make it to the hospital," Mustang said quickly. "I…I need help."

For a split second, Hughes just stood there, looking shocked and overwhelmed. Ed groaned slightly and curled in on himself a little. This seemed to jolt Hughes into action, and he pulled the door wide.

"Come in," he said. "We can lay him down on the sofa here."

Mustang stepped through the door, careful not to knock Ed on anything, and followed Hughes to the sofa. His heart was hammering in his chest. Now that they were no longer trekking through the snow, everything felt suddenly much more immediate. He could feel the kid shaking in his arms, and Ed's breath kept hitching in his chest.

"Fullmetal, I'm…I'm setting you down now," Mustang said, unsure if Ed was even awake enough to understand.

Mustang began to lower the young alchemist onto the sofa, but Ed cried out when his body started to straighten. He grasped weakly at Mustang's arms in an involuntary attempt to keep himself from lying flat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…." Mustang whispered through gritted teeth, prying Ed's hands from his wrists as gently as he could. Ed squirmed on the couch, trying to find a position that mitigated some of the pain.

"What happened to him?" Hughes said, appearing at Mustang's shoulder.

"I…I'm not sure exactly," Mustang said. "He went after that serial killer on his own, and I…I just found him like this."

Hughes made a small noise of distress and knelt down next to Ed. He carefully peeled Ed's jacket away from the wound, his hands more practiced and gentle than Mustang's could ever hope to be.

"Do you…need anything from me?" Mustang asked. He wasn't exactly sure what he could do, but he wanted to make himself useful.

"Yes," Hughes said, not taking his eyes off Ed. "Get me a pair of scissors."

Mustang nodded stiffly and went into the small kitchen. He pulled open all the drawers at once, grabbing the scissors from among the knives. He left the kitchen in disarray and hurried back to the living room, where Hughes was still leaning over Ed. Mustang gave him the scissors, and Hughes began to gently cut Ed's shirt off. As he peeled it back, Ed groaned and weakly tried to push his hands away.

"It's okay," Hughes told the young alchemist softly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Mustang stood awkwardly behind his friend, painfully aware of his inability to do...anything. He'd never been good in situations like these, he never knew what to do, much less what to say. But Hughes...Hughes seemed to know intuitively. Maybe some people were just made that way. Mustang certainly wasn't.

"Roy!" Hughes' voice startled him out of his thoughts. "Go to the cabinet in the bathroom and get me the medical kit. On the way back, get a sheet from the linen closet. We need to stop the bleeding."

Relieved to have something, anything, to _do_ , Mustang did as he was told. He set off for the bathroom at a run, trying to ignore Ed's audible whimpering as Hughes attempted to stop the flow of blood. It only took him a minute or two to return with the supplies, and Hughes immediately set to work. Mustang hovered uncomfortably behind Ed, unable to shut out his cries of pain, unable to do anything to stop them.

"Is there…can I help with anything?" he finally asked, hoping that the answer would be yes, even if he had to stitch Ed up himself. At least he wouldn't just be standing here. Hughes looked up at him and frowned.

"Go dry off. You'll catch your death of cold, you're soaking wet."

Now that Hughes mentioned it, Mustang noticed that he was shivering. But he didn't want to leave the room…. Surely he could do something here?

Hughes scowled at him. "I'll call you if there's anything you can help with. Now, go get a towel!"

"But-"

"Go!"

Mustang went. He knew Hughes was right, there really wasn't anything that he could do to help. He'd brought Ed to Hughes, and he'd brought him here so Hughes could do exactly what he was doing now. But still, he felt uncomfortable leaving the room, especially when Ed was curled on the couch writhing with pain. But he supposed it wouldn't help anything if he got sick, and once he was dried off he would be able to help better.

"You can put on one of my shirts!" Mustang heard Hughes call from the other room. "Bring one for Ed too when you come back!"  
Mustang went into his friend's bathroom, where he stripped off and threw away his damp, useless gloves. He grabbed a towel from where it was hanging on the wall and rubbed it over his head, making his hair stick up crazily. Then he sighed. He didn't particularly want to put on one of Hughes' odd shirts, but Hughes was right, Mustang really did need to get out of the cold, wet clothes that he'd been wearing during the walk through the snow. Unhappily, he shuffled through Hughes' closet and came up with the most understated thing he could find, a typical button-down marred only by the fact that it was bright purple. He frowned and pulled it on, not wanting to admit that he felt better once he was dry.

Mustang didn't particularly care about Ed's dignity, so he grabbed the kid another button down with a strange, swirly sort of pattern all over it. Then he went back out to the main room.

Mustang started to ask Hughes how Fullmetal was, but Hughes cut him off before the words were out of his mouth.

"Roy," he said. "Come here. I need to give Ed stitches, but he's moving around too much and I...I don't have a way to knock him out. I hate to ask you to do this, but I'm...I'm going to need you to hold him down."

* * *

Ed knew that he needed to stay still. He wasn't aware of anything but Hughes' gentle voice, asking, _begging_ Ed to lie down and not move so he could stitch the wound closed, but Ed couldn't. Every time Hughes got near the wound, Ed felt his body tense and automatically retreat from the touch, and as much as he told himself to calm down and toughen up, he...he couldn't get himself to stop.

Ed gasped weakly. The pain left him completely unable to catch his breath. He kept his eyes shut tight, and he was biting his lip so hard he was worried any second he would start tasting blood. Ed wanted to open his mouth, to tell Hughes that he was sorry, that he was trying his best, but he was afraid if he did he would be sick.

Mustang's voice cut through the haze of pain. "I'm...I'm sorry for this, Fullmetal." Then Ed felt two hands on his shoulders, forcing him flat onto his back, pinning him to the couch. Ed groaned. Involuntarily, he tried to push the hands away, but he was too weak.

Then, he felt a sharp jab adding to the already excruciating pain. Dimly, he realized Hughes had started the stitches. Without meaning to, he tried to jerk away, but Mustang's hands were on his shoulders and there was nowhere he could go. He felt the needle start to bring his torn flesh back together and the stitches in his side felt cold and foreign and _wrong_. He told himself that he must have been through worse, but that was then and this was now.

Ed choked back another cry of pain and jerked against Mustang's restraining hands once again. He tasted salt and realized he'd finally bitten through his lip. But, after what seemed like forever, the hands left his shoulders and Hughes was talking to him again.

"Well, Ed, that's it. The hard part's done." Ed opened his eyes and blinked away the haze to reveal Hughes smiling at him. His side was still aching horribly, but at least it shouldn't be bleeding anymore.

"Thanks," he managed, somewhat surprised to hear himself speak.

Hughes shook his head. "No need for that."

"Yeah, he'll make you pay for it plenty, now he's got a captive audience to talk to about Elicia," Mustang muttered darkly from behind Hughes. Ed smiled despite himself, surprised to hear the Colonel making a joke - at least he thought it was a joke.

"You can't leave either, Roy," Hughes pointed out. "That blizzard isn't going to let up until morning."

Mustang looked so despondent that Ed actually laughed, then cried out as pain shot up his side. Immediately, Hughes and Mustang were beside him.

"I'm...okay," he said haltingly, despising the mixture of fear and pity on their faces. Hughes must have seen some of his embarrassment in his eyes, because he smiled a little and turned away. When he turned back to Ed, he was holding one of his own shirts, one with cool swirls all over it.

"You must be cold. Here, take one of my shirts. Sorry, it might be a bit big…" He moved over to Ed and gently helped him sit up. It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much now. Ed silently appreciated Hughes' assistance as he put on the shirt. He wasn't sure he could have managed it on his own. Raising his arms to put them through the sleeves was hard enough, he didn't think he could have also focused on trying to pull the sleeves over his hands. He didn't think he could have also focused on using his strength to sit up.

Once he had the shirt on, Ed lay back down on the sofa with a groan of relief. He was still dizzy with blood loss and pain, and he was having a hard time catching his breath. But at least he didn't have to worry about dying anymore, or at least he didn't think he did.

With fumbling hands, Ed lifted the corner of the shirt so he could actually see the wound. It was the first time he was really looking at it, right after it had happened he had tried to avoid examining it too closely and all he had seen was the blood. Now, most of that had been wiped away. All that was left was a neat circle of stitching, holding the wound closed and making it look much more manageable than it had before. The skin around the injury was still angry and red where the needle had entered it, but at least his whole side was no longer soaked with blood.

Tentatively, Ed tried taking a deeper breath. It hurt, but it was manageable. He hadn't completely been aware that he'd been breathing shallowly in an attempt to head off the pain until suddenly he didn't have to anymore.

"Alright," Ed said, voice still a little shaky. "Thanks for fixing me up. Time for me to get back now."  
Ed swung his legs over the sofa and stood up, looking towards the door. But before he could take a single step, he felt his legs buckle beneath him. He tried to catch himself on the sofa, but missed, and he would have fallen if Hughes hadn't managed to grab his shoulders and ease him back into a sitting position.

"Where are you going?" Hughes almost yelled.

The act of standing had made Ed dizzy, and he was having a hard time getting words out. "I need to get back to Central Command," he said, as firmly as he could. "Al is still there."

Ed saw a flash of sympathy cross Hughes' face, but he shook his head. "Ed, you're in no condition to travel. We still need to bandage your wounds. And it's snowing like crazy out there. No one would be able to drive on the roads, and there's no way you could make it walking…."

"But Al…."

"Fullmetal, as your superior officer I am ordering you to stay here, at least until it stops snowing," Mustang broke in. Ed realized there was no point in arguing. Sullenly, he leaned back on the couch.

"I'm going to get bandages," Hughes said. "Wait here for a second." Hughes seemed to think that Ed was still at risk for simply walking out, because he looked at Mustang as he said it. All the fight had gone out of Ed when he'd realized the truth of what they were saying, but part of him wondered what Mustang would do if he did try to leave again. Would he tackle Ed to the ground? Physically bar the door? Just grab Ed by his gigantic shirt and drag him back to the couch? Ed could see any of the above situations happening, and he wasn't eager to see which path Mustang would choose. And he was at least a little relieved that he didn't have to try to make it all the way back to Central Command in the middle of a blizzard with a freshly closed stab wound.

Still, he didn't want Mustang to think he was going to make a habit of passively accepting his orders. So he made a point of sighing angrily and (carefully) crossing his arms. He hoped the Colonel got the message.

* * *

Mustang watched Ed showily slump into the cushions and suppressed a smile. If Fullmetal was going to all the trouble of acting difficult, then he really must be feeling better. For the first time since Ed had collapsed in front of him, Mustang relaxed.

But just a little. After all, even though Ed seemed to be out of immediate danger, he was still awfully pale. Lines of pain were still cut into his face, and every movement he made was slow and deliberate. Mustang knew he must be in an incredible amount of pain.

 _Stupid kid. If he had just listened…._ But Ed never listened. And Mustang had known he wouldn't listen, he'd known Ed would go after the killer anyway. And he hadn't stopped him. Now, Mustang felt responsible for every halting breath the kid took, every grimace of pain he made. He frowned. Very soon, he and Fullmetal would have to discuss the meaning of the term "superior officer."

But not yet. On the couch, Ed's eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly and deliberately, as if to prove to himself that he still could. He looked terrible. Mustang didn't want to feel _bad_ for the kid while he was yelling at him. He could put off the lecture until Ed looked better.

Hughes emerged from the back of the house with the bandages, and Mustang was relieved to no longer be alone with Fullmetal. He was never quite sure how to handle situations that crossed the barrier between his work and his personal life, and Ed seemed to force him into those situations quite often.

Hughes returned to Ed, and Mustang watched as he sat down next to the young alchemist.

"Can you lift up your shirt?" Hughes asked, and Ed nodded. Carefully, using the opposite hand, he pulled Hughes' shirt up to reveal the crisscrossed stitches against the red scar. Hughes carefully began winding the lengths of bandages around Ed's waist. Ed winced visibly each time Hughes' fingers accidentally brushed against the wound. The boy kept his eyes shut tight, face tense. His lower lip was a little bloody, he must have bitten through it in an attempt not to scream. Mustang fought down a wave of sympathy for the kid. He...he didn't want to watch this anymore, not when he felt so useless.

"I'm going to...go make tea or something," he finally said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Mustang had just stepped into the kitchen when all of the lights flicked out and the room was plunged into darkness. For some reason, his first thought was that it had been caused by some sort of practical joke by Hughes, and his eyes narrowed.

"Hughes?" he called out. "Not right now."

"What?" Hughes called back, his voice clearly still out in the other room. "Did you say something? Roy, come back in here. I think the power went out."

Mustang backtracked into the main room, where Hughes had apparently finished applying Ed's bandages and Ed was now lying limply on the couch, eyes closed.

"What happened?" Mustang asked.

Hughes shrugged. "I...I'm not exactly sure." He looked down at Ed. "Ed, are you going to be alright here for a little while by yourself? I want to go downstairs and see if I can figure out what the problem is."

Ed nodded, face pale and set, eyes still closed. One hand was wrapped gently around the wound in his side.

"Are...are you sure?" Mustang asked. He had a sudden, irrational image of him and Hughes emerging from the basement only to find that the kid had expired on the couch. Mustang couldn't let that happen, because Lieutenant Hawkeye would murder him if for no other reason.

Ed managed to push himself up into a half-sitting position, groaning a little. "I'm fine," he said, "really. Just go...fool around with the fuse box, or whatever it is you want to do. I'll keep resting here."

Mustang nodded, and followed Hughes down into the basement. It was dim enough that Mustang was having trouble seeing, and he wished desperately for a light.

"You can't...make a flame right now, right?" Hughes asked as they came to the end of the rickety stairs.

"No. Once my gloves get wet, I can't use them again, and I need an external source to make the spark. You don't happen to have a book of matches on you, do you?" Mustang asked.

Hughes shook his head. "Unfortunately, I do not."

They made their way through the darkened basement toward the back wall, stumbling over electric cords, boxes, and other assorted junk.

Mustang stepped over a rocking horse. "So...where _is_ Elicia?" he asked. "And Gracia?"

Hughes didn't say anything for a moment, then sighed a little. "Are you...just now realizing that they're not here?"

Mustang didn't reply, and Hughes continued. "Gracia took Elicia to visit her aunt in the country for a few days."

"Alright," Mustang said. He paused. "Where's the fuse box?"

"Over here," Hughes said, his voice sounding oddly loud in the empty room. Mustang squinted into the dull light and thought he could make it out. A street level window set high in the back wall of the basement was letting in a vague grey light, enough for them to dimly make out their surroundings.

Hughes reached out and opened the fuse box. The door swung open to reveal a mound of crisscrossed wires, disappearing mysteriously into the black depths of the fuse box. Hughes and Mustang stood back and regarded it dubiously. The fuse box sat enigmatically on the wall, giving them no guidance.

Mustang tried to remember if he'd ever learned anything about electronics. He didn't think he had. After a few minutes, he experimentally poked at a protruding red wire. Nothing happened.

Hughes shook his head authoritatively. "No, I remember reading somewhere that you're supposed to turn it off and back on, but you're supposed to make sure that all the other switches are off. Or maybe on. Or maybe some off and some on?"

Mustang peered at the fuse box, but all of the switches looked equally important and equally dangerous.

"We should turn everything off before we touch any wires," he said. This was the only thing that he was really certain of. "If we touch the wrong thing, we could get electrocuted."

Hughes, who had been fiddling with one of the trailing wires, dropped it immediately. He stepped back slightly, and they stared at the fuse box, trying to plan their next move.


	2. Chapter 2

The only thing that Ed could think about was the cold. His teeth were chattering, and even though he was wrapped in one of Hughes' blankets, he was still freezing. He felt...numb. He could barely even feel the wound in his side, and despite the respite it provided from the constant pain, he knew it was a bad sign. _Where did Hughes and the Colonel go?_

The two men had been gone for what seemed like quite a while, far longer than it should have taken them to fiddle with a few switches. Why hadn't they come back? Ed didn't want to be any more trouble, but he couldn't feel the fingers on his left hand.

With a grunt of effort, he forced himself up from the couch, almost welcoming the momentary pain in his side. At least he could still feel _something._ He managed a few steps before he had to lean on the wall, breathing hard.

As he pushed himself upright, he glanced out the window and groaned. He was looking out across the city, but all he could see was the uniform white of the fallen snow. _The power's out all over,_ he thought. _They're not going to be able to change anything even if they mess with the fuse box for hours._ Why hadn't they realized that? They were adults, right? Weren't they supposed to be smart?

Sighing, he tried to take another step. But the cold was making his legs unsteady, and he was shaking with blood loss. His metal leg started to give way beneath him, so stiff he could barely move it. He reached for the wall, but his vision was blurring in and out and he missed. As if in slow motion, he crumpled to the ground.

Ed had a vague sense that he needed to get to the basement, so he could tell the dumbasses downstairs that they weren't going to bring the power back on. They had to keep him warm some other way. He hated asking for help, but he simply wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. His hand was so cold that it ached, and the places where the automail connected to his skin felt like ice. He was having a hard time breathing.

He wrapped a trembling hand around Hughes' too-big shirt and drew it tighter around himself. It didn't help much. He kept shivering helplessly, and he couldn't seem to force his legs to take his weight again. He tried breathing on his hand a little, hoping maybe he could warm it up. That didn't work either. The air inside his lungs was too cold.

Black spots were starting to dance in front of Ed's eyes. He was afraid that if Hughes and Mustang were down there too much longer, when they came back up he would be dead. He couldn't stand, and he knew there was no way he could make it down the stairs. But he hoped that maybe he'd be able to crawl to the top and then shout down to them. He thought maybe he could manage that without blacking out.

Laboriously, Ed pushed himself to his hands and knees. He made it another couple feet before his metal arm stopped bending, and then his real arm gave way too. Helplessly, he let his body fold to the ground. His eyes closed. He curled himself into the smallest ball he could, trying to trap in any heat that was left in his core. He was shaking so badly it hurt and his muscles were locked in place. All he could do was hope that Mustang and Hughes would find him.

* * *

"It's no use," Hughes said finally, throwing his hands up and turning away from the fuse box. "If we haven't figured it out by now, we're never going to."

Mustang scowled at the obstinate hunk of metal. "I think we're close."

Hughes was already heading up the stairs. "Come on, Roy, we need to check on Ed. He's probably freezing by now…."

Reluctantly, Mustang followed. He was only about halfway up when he heard a cry of distress from Hughes, and he ran up the remainder of the staircase to join him.

He found his friend kneeling over Fullmetal, who was curled into a ball at the end of the hallway. Ed's eyes were closed, sunken into his ashy face. The only color in his skin was the blue around his lips. Mustang reflexively shivered in sympathy.

"Is he…breathing?" he asked. The young alchemist looked so cold that Mustang couldn't believe he was still alive. But the alternative was far too horrible to contemplate.

"Yeah, but not much," Hughes said briefly, and swept Ed into his arms. Ed mumbled something unintelligible, and Mustang felt a rush of relief. Hughes walked into the living room, still cradling the kid, and sat down on the sofa. He wrapped the blanket he found there around Ed, then picked him up again, trying to give the kid as much of his own body heat as he could.

"...so cold," Ed muttered. Mustang gritted his teeth, angry at himself for being unable to master something as simple as a fuse box. He should have been able to figure it out.

"I'm sorry, Fullmetal," he said. "We couldn't get the power back on."

Ed shivered in Hughes' arms and shook his head. "That's 'cause...power's out all over the city…."

Mustang frowned. The kid was right, he couldn't see the lights from any other buildings. But what did that have to do with anything?

Hughes rubbed his hands gently over Ed's arm, trying to warm it. "What do you mean, Ed?"

"...the central power plant is out," Ed said, somehow managing to sound exasperated even while he could barely speak.

Hughes shook his head. "I can't believe we didn't realize that! Ed, I'm so sorry. We shouldn't have left you alone for so long, especially not for something so stupid…."

"I'm sure with a little more time, I could figure something out," Mustang said confidently. He would not be vanquished by a mere fuse box. Ed twisted around to glare at him.

"That is not how electricity works, Colonel," Ed said shortly. In any other situation, Mustang probably would have snapped back at the kid, but there was no way he could now, not when Ed was greyish with cold, trembling in Hughes' arms. And anyway, Hughes was looking at Mustang in a way that made him suspect that Ed might be right about the fuse box after all, not that that was ever something he'd be willing to admit.

"Roy," Hughes said, before Mustang had a chance to say anything more one way or the other. "Can you please use your alchemy to start a fire?"

Mustang nodded. This, at least, was something he felt confident that he could do. "Where are your matches?" he said.

"What?"

"Your matches. Or a lighter, I suppose. I just need something to create the spark with, since my gloves got soaked, and then I'll be able to make the fire."

"I don't have anything like that," Hughes said slowly. "We...we normally just rely on the heat from the power…."

A wave of helplessness washed over Mustang. All he needed to do was make a fire, and he would be able to save Ed, he would be able to warm up both Hughes and himself. But he couldn't even do that. All he could do was watch the kid shiver.

* * *

Ed wasn't entirely sure what was going on anymore. He had a pretty clear memory of trying to crawl for the stairs, he had wanted Mustang and Hughes to come up and do...something. Help him, he was pretty sure. And then they had, they must have, because he was tucked up against Hughes' chest, locked in a shivering ball. He had a vague memory of a conversation he'd had with Mustang, but even now, less than fifteen minutes later, he couldn't be entirely sure what it had been about.

In any other situation, Ed would be mortified to be held like this. But now, it wasn't even something he was fully aware of. His limbs were tensed so hard with cold that he didn't think he would be able to move them even if he wanted to. His hands were trembling so badly that they hardly felt like they were attached to him anymore. His breathing had slowed way down, but there was nothing he could do about it

Above him, Mustang and Hughes were having an important sounding conversation that he was too delirious to pay attention to. He caught the words _automail, fire, death,_ and _breathing._ He had a suspicion that they were talking about him, but he couldn't seem to string the pieces together. Everything around him was moving very slowly. Or maybe it was just him….

He knew that something was very wrong, but that was seeming less and less important as his breathing slowed and his body shook. He wasn't even as cold anymore, he was just so tired….

Something stirred in the back of his mind, a tiny voice that he could barely hear. What was it saying? Ed couldn't focus on it, he was too cold, too weak, too exhausted. And within a minute, he couldn't remember the voice at all. The nagging doubt subsided into the frozen expanse of his thoughts, and he closed his eyes and shivered in Hughes' arms.

Mustang stalked around Hughes' apartment, snatching up random metal objects and clattering them against every available surface, desperately trying to create a spark. _If I can just start a fire…._

"Roy, what are you doing?" Hughes called from the other room as Mustang dragged a poker across the tiles on the kitchen floor. "Why do you have my poker?"

"I'm trying to get a spark," Mustang yelled back, continuing to scrape the poker. No luck.

"Put that down and get in here!" Hughes shouted. "That's not helping anything!"

Mustang knew he was right, but he couldn't just sit by and watch Ed freeze to death. Angrily, he threw the poker down and stomped back into the living room. Hughes looked up from his place on the couch, Ed almost completely concealed in his arms.

"Are you sure your gloves won't work?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Mustang snapped, knowing that this situation wasn't Hughes' fault, knowing that they'd be in a far worse fix without him, but still unable to hold himself back. "If you just had some goddamn matches! What kind of household doesn't have matches?!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Flame Alchemist," Hughes growled, now starting to shiver himself. "You're right, I should have anticipated a power outage and unreliable alchemy. My mistake."

Mustang winced. Every slow, shallow breath Ed drew was reminding him just how helpless he was. He could solve all of this if he could just do the one thing that set him apart. Finally, there was something he could do to help, and he couldn't get a spark.

Hughes shook his head. "S-sorry, Roy. This isn't your fault."

Mustang didn't answer. The little of Ed's skin that he could see looked waxy and thin, like a doll's. His breathing was audibly slower. He was dying, and Mustang couldn't stop himself from thinking that he'd failed him somehow.

"R-r-roy?"

Mustang looked up. Hughes was shivering now too, not nearly as pale as Ed, but still a shade or two off of normal.

"C-c-can you t-take him? I-" He didn't need to finish the sentence. Mustang was already moving. At least he could do _something_ now _._ He sat down next to Hughes and carefully pulled Ed into his own lap.

He gasped slightly as he felt the chill deep in the young alchemist's bones. Ed was so cold his automail was almost painful to the touch, even through the blankets surrounding his small body. Even his skin felt like ice, colder than the frigid air surrounding them. Mustang pulled Ed tighter against his chest. His automail arm dug awkwardly into Mustang's shoulder. But Mustang could ignore that. All that mattered was that the kid retained enough heat to keep breathing.

After a few moments, Ed's eyelids fluttered. "What's...what's happening?" he asked, voice weak and shaky. Almost involuntarily, he started trying to extract himself from Mustang's arms, and Mustang had to pin Ed tightly to his chest for a few seconds before he stopped struggling.

Before Mustang had formulated any sort of a response, Hughes was there, kneeling on the ground so he was eye-level with Ed. Ed's eyes were a little unfocused, but at least Mustang thought that he recognized both him and Hughes.

"How do you feel?" Hughes asked him. He didn't respond for a long few seconds. "Ed?"

"Cold," he finally muttered.

Hughes nodded solemnly. "Your automail is bringing your core body temperature down, and the stab wound isn't helping. Your body doesn't have enough extra energy to expend on heating itself. Can you feel your fingers?"

Ed visibly considered for a moment, and then shook his head, sparks of panic in his eyes. Carefully, Hughes extracted Ed's real hand from inside the blanket and held it in both of his for a few moments, then started trying to massage some warmth back into the fingers. Ed watched all these proceedings with a sort of dull disinterest. Mustang knew that his lack of a struggle, more than anything else, meant he was really in danger.

Ed's eyes closed again soon after that. Mustang continued to hold him cradled against his chest, trying to keep warmth in his tiny body, and Hughes continued to try to work feeling back into Ed's hand and arm. But after a little while, Mustang found that he too was shivering. The direct contact with the automail was bringing his body temperature down the same way it was dropping Ed's, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep warming the kid.

"Roy," Hughes asked abruptly, voice a little breathless with the cold. "If we brought in some snow from outside, could you use alchemy to heat it up?"

"I told you, I need a spark and we don't have a way to make one…."

"No," Hughes said. "Not flame alchemy, just a normal transmutation circle."

Mustang blinked. He rarely ever thought about any kind of alchemy that wasn't flame, to be completely honest, but this sounded like it might work. It wasn't even a particularly difficult transmutation.

He nodded slowly. "That could work actually...here, take Fullmetal. I'll go get some snow…."

Hughes shook his head. "No, I'll get it, you stay here with Ed. You should save your energy or something, right?" Without any more discussion, he disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with a few pots. Then, he was outside in the snow.

Mustang held Ed close and waited for Hughes to return, angry at himself for not realizing that he could transmute snow into water. He'd been so focused on losing his fire, he hadn't been able to think of anything else. It had taken someone who wasn't even an alchemist to remind him of his own craft. He supposed he should be grateful. At least someone had able to do what he couldn't. And now, he'd be able to do… _something._

Not a moment too soon. Ed wasn't shivering anymore, but Mustang didn't think that was because he was any warmer. He'd been holding the kid for a while, and as far as he could tell, the young alchemist was just as cold as he'd been when Hughes had shoved him into Mustang's arms. At first, he'd tried looking at Ed's face, desperately attempting to find a bit of color, but he'd abandoned the effort. Seeing how pale Ed was, his closed eyes sunk deep into his almost greyish face - it was just too difficult. It only reminded Mustang how helpless they were.

Hughes banged back into the apartment and set down his pots, heaped high with snow. "Okay, Roy. Do your thing."

Mustang unclenched his arms from around Ed and set him down on the couch. Ed blinked, once, but he didn't speak, and Mustang didn't think he'd even registered the movement. Hughes took his place next to Ed, and Mustang knelt on the ground next to the pots. Using the snow, he drew a quick transmutation circle, then paused.

Usually, this sort of transmutation was easy. All he had to do was draw heat energy from his surroundings and transfer it into the snow. The snow would melt, the water would heat. Simple.

But it wasn't so simple when there was a near-frozen kid on the couch. The air was so cold already, Mustang wasn't sure how much heat energy it had to offer. Besides, stealing heat from Ed's surroundings just to boil water to warm him up seemed counterintuitive. Once again, Mustang wished he could get a spark, just a small spark…. But if he could get a spark, then he wouldn't need to boil the water in the first place.

 _Think,_ he ordered himself. _You have to be able to get heat from somewhere._ He racked his brain for something, anything, that would help him.

 _What was that Master Hawkeye said? Something about how we, too, are part of the flow of all things, a source-_

Mustang's head snapped up. Of course, it was so obvious now that he couldn't believe he'd missed it before. What had he been doing for almost an hour? He'd been using himself as a source of heat. It shouldn't be that hard to add alchemy to that basic idea.

With a deep breath, he placed his hands on the circle and concentrated on himself, focusing on the blood pulsing in his veins and the heat rising from his skin. Closing his eyes, he took that energy and _pushed_ it into the snow with all the strength that he had left. Within a few seconds, steam was curling faintly off the surface of the water.

Mustang sat back on his heels. The effort of putting heat into the water had left him feeling weak, and he was trembling much worse than before. He knotted his hands and drew them into his chest, hoping to get some warmth back into them. Even with the warm water, he wouldn't be able to help Ed if he couldn't move his fingers.

"Alright," Mustang said. "It's done. Can you...can you bring him over here?"

Hughes didn't respond. A chill of fear shot through Mustang, and he turned back to the sofa. Ed was still on Hughes' lap, but he wasn't curled up anymore. Hughes had laid him out mostly straight, and was frantically trying to find a pulse in the kid's wrist. Hughes looked up at Mustang with wide, panicked eyes.

"No," Mustang murmured, staring at Ed's still, pale body. "No."

"Roy, I can't find his heartbeat…." Hughes whispered, voice hoarse with cold.

Mustang was already moving by that point. He grabbed Ed's shoulders and shook him, but he remained completely limp. His eyelids didn't even flicker. His skin was cold as ice against Mustang's hands. He didn't feel like a living thing.

"Just bring the water over, maybe we can still fix it-" Hughes said helplessly.

Mustang shook his head. If the kid was going to survive, he needed more warming than just a little hot water could provide. And Mustang had an idea, a crazy idea that he wasn't entirely sure would work. But he had to try. They were fresh out of options, and without some serious heat, Ed was certainly going to die.

Assuming, of course, that he wasn't already dead.

Mustang drew another transmutation circle, and Hughes watched him silently. Mustang put one hand on the transmutation circle and the other on Ed's still chest. He concentrated on the heat flowing through his body, the same way he had when he'd melted the snow. This couldn't be all that different. He just needed to add warmth to Ed, just as he'd done to the water. It would just take...more heat.

The transmutation circle started to glow, and Mustang _felt_ the heat start to leach out of his own body and into Ed's. Finally, he felt Ed's chest rise under his hand, and he pulled himself away, gasping with relief.

Immediately, Mustang felt his legs give way, and he sank down to his knees. He was trembling as badly now as the kid had been an hour ago, but without the automail and the stab wound he knew he could survive it. He drew in a few shuddering breaths.

"He's breathing again," Mustang heard Hughes say above him, voice tight with relief. "Are you alright?"

Mustang nodded. He felt cold and a little ill, but he knew he would recover. As long as the kid had enough body heat to stay alive, that was all that mattered. And he could hear Ed breathing now; the sound of the air being pulled into the kid's lungs almost made Mustang forget the cold that encompassed him. It certainly made it more bearable.

Still, he didn't protest when Hughes wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and helped him make his way to the couch. Exhausted, he slumped down on the cushions and watched with relief as some color began to slowly seep back into Ed's face.

* * *

Ed blinked, and above him, Hughes' face blurred in and out of focus. What...Ed only had a vague idea of the past few hours; all that he could clearly remember was the crippling cold. The cold that had numbed his brain along with his body, the cold that Ed had been sure was going to kill him. He blinked again, and he saw Hughes' face light up in sudden relief.

"Roy! I think he's awake!"

"Did…did the power come back on?" Ed muttered weakly. But the lights were still off, and he didn't feel _that_ much warmer. The air was still freezing and his automail was still burning his exposed skin. But _something_ must have happened…. And then he turned his head to the side and saw the transmutation circle, saw Mustang blue-lipped and shivering behind Hughes, and he knew why he was still breathing.

"...Colonel?"

Mustang shook his head stiffly. "D-d-don't use up your energy, Fullmetal. We have no way of knowing when the power will come back on."

He was right, and Ed was secretly relieved to be given the excuse to stay silent. Every word was a challenge, his face and lips were so numb. Besides, he had no idea what to say. He wasn't good at giving thanks at the best of times, and "thank you" didn't seem like enough for what the Colonel had done anyways. So he didn't argue, he just wrapped his stiff fingers around Hughes' blankets and tried to retain the heat he'd been given.

He felt Hughes' arms encircle him once again, and he wanted to struggle, wanted to throw them off, but he was far too afraid of what would happen. He never wanted to feel himself slipping away like he had a few hours before. He had been only partially aware of his danger, knowing something was wrong but being unable to save himself. There wasn't much he could do now, aside from lie there in Hughes' arms. He just had to try to keep awake and alert, try to outlast the cold long enough for the power to return.

* * *

Mustang watched his breath crystallize in the air in front of him and fought against the urge to close his eyes. It had been a long, sleepless night, for both him and Hughes. But he couldn't help Ed if he was asleep. The kid was breathing alright now, even appeared to be awake, but Mustang knew that could change. And he couldn't let Ed get so near the edge again. What if he'd gone too far for Mustang to bring him back?

But for all that, Mustang wasn't sure how much more of his own heat he could give. That last transfer had really tired him out, and he could still feel the chill deep in his bones. And it wasn't like the room was getting any warmer. But as he looked over at Ed, no longer greyish but still an alarming shade of bluish-white, he knew he'd do whatever was necessary to keep the kid breathing.

"He really needs fluids," Hughes murmured, his voice shaking Mustang upright. "Roy, are you alright to stand yet? Do you think you could make him some tea?"

Mustang nodded, and got somewhat unsteadily to his feet. He went into the kitchen, and rummaged through the cabinets until he managed to locate a mug and a box of tea.

"Get some dishtowels while you're in there too," he heard Hughes call from the other room, and he did as he was told and returned with the supplies.

Hughes carefully extracted himself from Ed and laid the kid down on the sofa, where he quickly curled himself into a small ball. "What are you doing?" Mustang said. "He's still freezing."

"I know," Hughes said, taking the towels from Mustang. "I'm trying to warm him up."

Mustang watched as Hughes soaked the towels in the warm water. Then he pulled Ed's shirt off of his metal shoulder and put the warm cloths at the place where the automail intersected with his skin. This seemed to ease Ed's breathing almost immediately, and Mustang watched as the kid visibly relaxed into the warmth.

"Does that feel a little better, Ed?" Hughes asked. Ed nodded. His eyes were still closed, but at least he wasn't unconscious anymore.

"Can you get him some tea?" Hughes asked Mustang, easing Ed onto his lap again. Mustang put the tea bag into the mug with some warm water, and then stood to give the tea to Ed. Ed opened his eyes again when he heard Mustang stand, and Mustang felt some of the tension that he'd been carrying since Ed's heartbeat had faded melt away a little.

Hughes helped Ed into a more upright position. The kid winced when Hughes accidentally brushed against the wound in Ed's chest, but Mustang knew that at least that meant some of the feeling was coming back to him. Ed reached a hand out to take the mug from Mustang, but it was trembling so badly that Mustang knew there was no way he'd be able to hold it properly, especially when he seemed unable to move his automail. Ed wrapped his fingers around the cup, and then Mustang wrapped his hands around Ed's. He helped Ed take a few shaky sips of the tea, wincing a little when it touched his split lip. The fluids seemed to revive the kid even more. After only a few more minutes, he seemed strong enough to hold the cup on his own.

For the first time since he'd been unable to summon a spark, Mustang dared to feel a little hope. All they had to do was keep Ed awake, keep him breathing, keep him warm…Mustang could heat plenty more water with his own energy if he had to. Maybe Ed would be okay after all.

An hour later, the power came back on. There was a hiss as the heater kicked in, and the lights flickered back to life.

"Finally," Ed muttered, and Mustang was relieved to hear the note of indignation in his voice. Ed closed his eyes and relaxed against the couch, letting the heat lick some color back into his frozen cheeks. He yawned. "We're lucky we have heat - I'm surprised you didn't break something in that fuse box."

Hughes shrugged, looking sheepish. "We mostly just stared at it."

Ed cracked open one eye and stared incredulously at Hughes, then snickered quietly. Ordinarily, Mustang would have begrudged him the joke, but Ed's lips had just now begun to lose the bluish tinge that surrounded them, and Mustang could see him wince as his hand regained some feeling. He wasn't in any mood to squabble with the young alchemist, not when he was in this state.

Abruptly, Hughes stood and began to walk toward the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Mustang said sharply. He didn't want to be left alone with Ed; that seemed like too much responsibility.

"I need to make some calls about the serial killer. He can't have gotten too far with the blizzard...We should be able to take him in." Hughes retreated into the kitchen, and Mustang let him go reluctantly. Then he went back to staring uncomfortably at the kid.

It was a good two hours before Ed's cheeks were no longer ashen and he had stopped shivering violently. A good thing, too. Now that Ed had thawed out some, it was clear that his stab wound was paining him again. He'd risen to an upright position on the couch, but he was sitting there stiffly, clearly afraid to move much.

But he wasn't shaking with cold or pain, and he'd even managed to eat some soup that Hughes had warmed for him. And asked for more. Mustang was pretty sure that the young alchemist was through the worst of it. Excellent. There was something that he needed to address.

* * *

"Fullmetal."

Ed looked up, a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth. The Colonel sounded…odd. Ed wasn't sure what was wrong with him, maybe he was still tired out from the energy transfer?

Mustang cleared his throat and looked around awkwardly, everywhere but at Ed. "Are you...feeling better?"

Ed froze. This was completely uncharacteristic for the Colonel. First the heat alchemy, now this? He hated being in anyone's debt, much less the Colonel's. He always knew exactly how much you owed him, and he never hesitated to remind you. But...Mustang seemed to be genuinely concerned. Ed figured if he wasn't, he wouldn't have so much trouble getting the words out. Even now, he was staring determinedly at the ground midway between them, unwilling to meet Ed's eyes.

And Ed was feeling better. The stab wound in his side was throbbing angrily, but he'd rather be feeling something than nothing. The numbness had been infinitely scarier. So he nodded cautiously at the Colonel. "Yeah, I think I am."

It was like a visible weight had been removed from Mustang's shoulders. Ed watched as the Colonel's back straightened, his shoulders squared, and he drew himself up. He strode over to the couch where Ed was sitting, still holding his soup, and took a deep breath. Ed watched, truly unsure of what was coming.

If he'd had to guess, he would have been wrong.

"FULLMETAL! HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY THE ORDERS OF YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER! NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN'T IGNORED ME AND GONE AFTER THE SERIAL KILLER ON YOUR OWN! I DO NOT SPEAK JUST TO HEAR MYSELF TALK, I EXPECT YOU TO LISTEN!"

He yelled so loudly that Hughes came out of the kitchen, soup in hand, to see what all the fuss was about. Ed shot him a supplicating glance, but Hughes shook his head slowly and withdrew. As the Colonel continued to lecture at full volume, Ed closed his eyes and thought he would almost rather the power have stayed off.


End file.
